And Jake?
Jake would walk through hell itself to keep her safe.
Every step was a battle.
The heat pressed in from all sides, making Jake's gear feel like it was melting into his skin. Hannah lay limp in his arms, her face tucked against his chest, still clutching that damn recipe box like it was anchoring her to life itself.
Hold on, sweetheart. Just hold on.
The front entrance was completely blocked now, flames eating through what was left of the doorframe. Jake turned toward the back, remembering the path through muscle memory alone. He'd walked this kitchen a thousand times—fixing leaks, stealing kisses, watching Hannah dance while she baked.
Now it was disappearing in front of him, consumed by hungry flames that seemed to chase their every step.
The smoke was getting thicker.
The floor less stable.
The air hotter.
Jake's turnout gear could only protect them for so long. Already he could feel the heat seeping through, searching for vulnerable spots. His hands burned where they gripped Hannah, but he wouldn't let go. Couldn't let go.
A section of ceiling collapsed behind them, showering them with burning debris. Jake curled his body around Hannah, taking the brunt of it on his back. Pain lanced through his shoulder, sharp and immediate, but he kept moving.
The back door loomed ahead, barely visible through the smoke.
Almost there. Almost?—
The door was locked.
Bolted from the outside.
"Son of a bitch." The words came out as a growl. Michael had planned this. Had trapped her here deliberately.
Jake's hands shook with rage, but there wasn't time for anger. Not when Hannah's breathing was getting shallower. Not when the building was literally falling apart around them.
He shifted Hannah in his arms, getting a better grip. Then he did the only thing he could do.
He turned and slammed his shoulder into the door.
Pain exploded through his too-hot skin. The door shuddered but held.
Again.
The wood splintered.
Again.
The frame cracked.
"Please," he whispered against Hannah's hair. Not a prayer. A promise. "I'm not letting you go."
One more hit.
The door burst outward, cool night air rushing in like a blessing. Jake stumbled through the opening just as another section of ceiling collapsed behind them.
"I need a medic!" His voice was raw, desperate. "Now!"
Emergency lights painted everything in stark reds and blues. Hands reached for Hannah—Peterson, Roberts, the paramedics swarming forward with a gurney.
